


What if I'm far from Home?

by Mad_Merry



Series: Hey, Brother [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Connor & CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60 & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Deviant CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60, Gen, Irresponsible Android Alcohol Consumption, Parental Hank Anderson, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24427948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Merry/pseuds/Mad_Merry
Summary: "Relax, he says. As if Caleb is a stranger he needs coached on how to socialize with."Work takes Hank and Connor out of state, leaving Nines and Sixty to their own devices for a week and a half.
Relationships: CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60 & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Upgraded Connor | RK900 & Gavin Reed
Series: Hey, Brother [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710283
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	What if I'm far from Home?

**Author's Note:**

> *Sprinkles in some fledgling Reed900 bc I have no self control*  
> The lovely ThiefofStealth asked for some Sixty and Nines chilling together, I prob made it more feelsy than it needed to, but I love soft and awkward Nines

“And you’re sure you’ll be alright,” Connor questions for what feels like the fortieth time, but Conrad knows if he actually checks his log, it would only be three times that morning. Once during their morning walk, Sumo snuffling about in the warmth of spring. A second time after breakfast, while he’d been going over his luggage to make sure he had not forgotten his papers and arguing with Hank (only once, a new record) that no, he cannot take a full tube of toothpaste, per the regulations of the Detroit Airport. And finally now, standing in the waiting area of the boarding dock. Waiting for their plane to land, to get seated and settle in for the five hour flight to Newark, where they’ll take an hour cab and settle into their hotel in New York.

Hank and Connor were going to New York, hours, miles away from their humble home in Michigan to stand in front of the biggest police departments known to the U.S and give a _lecture_. It was a massive honor, one that marked progress and change, and was perhaps a little terrifying. He was going not just as the first android detective, but as a representative of New Jericho and a contributor to the revolution. 

He could easily tell despite his hesitance, his brother was excited. None of them had been out of state before, obviously, and the RK800 had expressed an interest in traveling early on in their personal talks.

“It’s only a week and a half, Eight. We will survive without you.” 

Well, _Conrad_ will. The advanced model glancing elusively towards their “youngest” family member, who is staring into space with his ever-yellow LED.

He knows just as well as Connor that Sixty will not admit he’s...rattled at the idea of being separated from the fellow unit. He had taken the news relatively well weeks prior, but when Nines had tracked his stress levels (a thoughtless, fretful habit both he and the oldest had developed) they’d been ticking up steadily. Resting at a precarious sixty percent, ironically, hand clasped tightly to the sleeve of the other's sweater. 

This will after all, be the first time he and Caleb are left alone longer than a few hours with one another. It will be just them and Sumo in the house. 

“Maybe it will be me who does not survive without you two,” A teasing response, one that sparks a warm kind of instability within Nines’ chest. His face softens, looking between the two of them with a rapidly bittersweet smile. It’s a reminder that they have only had one another for quite some time; plus Hank, of course. Just the four of them within the walls of their home, learning to live, growing as people, building relationships outside of their circle, but always coming back to one another at the end of the day. 

It is, admittedly, a little scary to think of two members of his family so far away. Out of his reach, his protection and monitoring hindered.

“You’ll do fine. You’ve got Hank.” Their moment is interrupted by the synced rise of their heads, the intercom above announcing their flight number, along the words they’ve been waiting for. 

Hank rises, taking hold of both men’s bags and comes to his eldest son’s side. “That’s us, Con. We better get goin.” 

“Right,” 

They all give their farewell hugs, trying to keep it brief to prevent the two risking being late to their flight. Hank, ever the father figure, warns them to behave, don’t set anything on fire again (another story for another time) and to most importantly have fun. Enjoy having the house.

“I will miss you both,” Connor says, and there is the smallest hint of growing hysteria in his voice. The reality of the scenario perhaps hitting him harder than he’d thought it would. Caleb looks two steps from shaking and begging to go with them, Conrad quietly linking their fingers to both comfort, and to keep the RK unit in place.

“And we will miss you. Now go on, let us know when you’ve landed.”

And off the go, one deep, shuddering breath escaping from Caleb, and nothing else. 

* * *

The drive back home is quiet, but Conrad was not expecting anything else when it came to his brother. Caleb did not typically say much unless it was needed of him; he could and would string together a scathing sentence when given an opportunity, that good ol’ RK sass breaking past his wall of anxiety and fear of the unknown. It was a rare occurrence however outside of the house, caught on a good day where his energy was high and his apathy had lifted some. He preferred to express silence, and it was something they at least shared in common. 

Their first evening alone is uneventful; they feed Sumo, Conrad joins the daily walk, but there are gaps in their routine neither of them voice. There is no dinner conversation without Hank, and there is no hour of attempting to get their brother to stop reading emails at the dinner table. There are no dishes to do besides a coffee mug and pan from that morning, and they end up on the couch watching trashy reality television until they get the text from Connor stating they have landed, and are in their hotel safely. 

_Remember_ , he adds after Conrad had wished them good luck and a fun trip, _just relax_. 

He wants to scoff, restraining himself so as to not bring attention to his low simmering irritation and offense. Relax, he says, as if Caleb is a stranger he needs coached on how to socialize with.

He does understand, though he’s loath to admit it. He and Sixty’s interactions have been, at least in his eyes, heartfelt. There are no doubts that their relationship is one of mutual trust and love; he loves Caleb just as he loves Connor and Hank. Resolutely, and typically quietly. Nines often was the one the other went to for things like silent company, and the enabling of his semi-impulsive whims. He however has often stood on the side when it came to his recovery and his growth as a deviant, allowing Connor to take the lead, the more vocal candidate. 

He has incidentally, been a buffer for a very long time, and Conrad would not admit he is uncertain how to proceed without that buffer.

No “older” brother to break the silence, to assist in voicing their concerns, to direct and demand attention in the way Connor tends to do. 

So, Nines does what he knows best. He checks his emails and databases, preparing for the workday that awaits him in the morning hours, allowing the silence to sink into their space and let it become something not comfortable, but tolerable. They watch a bit more television, get ready for bed in the usual fashion that they do, and Conrad does what he knows Sixty needs.

“Goodnight, Six. Sleep well.” 

The watery smile he gets in return does not comfort him. 

Androids do not “sleep,” per say. They don’t lose consciousness due to fatigue, nor really need the physical/psychological benefits that stem from a full REM sleep cycle. Stasis is the closest form of sleeping a machine can reach, and Nines had long concluded he appreciated the ease on his processors. The ability to breakdown the information from his day, his week, his short life and do what Hank called “sleeping it off.” Besides those benefits, there really isn’t much need for it. It’s purely an activity of choice. Some perform it to pass the time, some do it for the same reasons as himself, others do it as a means of isolation. Time to themselves, time to think and dare to daydream.

It’s why it's not really startling when a soft call of “Nines,” breaks him from his third process of a case a month back. Conrad checks his internal clock; they had only gone to bed an hour and a half ago, six hours before sunrise, seven before the larger RK unit had to think about getting ready for work. He turns his head marginally from his place on the pullout sofa, his upgraded optic units allowing him to see the pale outline of the RK800, as well as his LED. Spinning yellow, red, yellow. 

**[CONCLUSION]** : CALEB IS DISTRAUGHT

He sits up, sends a request to the smart lamp to set it to dim, illuminating Caleb just enough to see his downwards face, fingers toying with the strings of his pajama shirt. It’s for a band from the 70’s, an impulsive buy that had been the younger’s first step towards outfit choices. 

“Something the matter, Caleb?” 

Hesitation, in the form of the other’s lips parting, and being met with silence. A scan before he can stop himself. Surprisingly, his stress levels are only in the tens. Perhaps for another model, another person, that would be concerning. But Conrad had long learned ten was normal. Ten may as well be his brother’s permanent state. 

“I--” A click in his voice box, scratching unnecessarily at the mess of his hair, or what remained of it. They’d gone a little shorter on the sides not long ago, a tasteful taper that looked much cleaner than the wild buzz they’d taken the first time around. “I am struggling to comfortably enter stasis.” 

“Are you experiencing the beginnings of an attack?”

“No, I. I don’t think so.”

“Did an outside stimulus disturb you?”

“N..no.” 

They stare at each other. Caleb looks ready to implode. 

“It’s just. I...Connor, he--he’s always there. When I go into stasis. I thought I would do fine without him, I had done it once before but that was because he,” A swallow that is not needed, flexes each finger, one by one, as if he is calibrating. “He had been out here with you, after…” 

Ah, yes. After the Jadus case. Conrad had lost his site from direct head trauma; Eight had spent the entire night within his innermost workings searching high and low for what luckily, turned out to just be a disconnected wire within his optical unit. 

He had not realized how dependent Sixty was on their brother’s company when it came to nighttime hours. 

“Would you like to join me instead?” He offers, smiling a little easier, a little softer after more practice. Gavin had even said it looked dopey rather than creepy, this time. 

There is very little hesitation once the offer is on the table, Caleb clamoring onto the squeaky bed and climbing under Conrad’s sheet in record time, into his space and a hand enclosing around the fabric of his shirt. The smaller’s own form of security. 

“Sorry,” He murmurs into the dark once again, his LED daring a single moment of pale blue, and that alone eases all of the RK900’s insecurities for just a moment. 

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Sixty sleeps with him from that point on, a new semi comfortable routine being temporarily set into place. Conrad gets up and ready for work, letting his brother remain in stasis for as long as he desires, with a note or a text letting him know the time he should be back. They share Sumo’s evening walk when he returns, and they find things to do within the usual hour of dinner together. Sometimes they look at the pictures Connor sends, smiling and enjoying the over excited commentary of their seemingly well composed brother. Other times they pick a show to watch together, or sit in the silence of the house as Caleb rests his head on his shoulder, reading alongside the larger unit.

Sometimes they enter stasis with their hands tangled together, the interface thoughtless and soothing between them.

* * *

He doesn’t know how it comes up at work, the subject of drinking. It begins with reminiscing about college and high school among the officers, a mix of horror stories and fond memories alike from days of being free from responsibilities. Chris turns to Nines, who had planted himself beside Gavin after checking his messages and finishing paperwork. Connor had texted him earlier that morning ranting about the noise of New York fucking with auditory input, as well as proclaiming the chief of the precinct an, and he quotes, “absolute chode.” 

He had sent a screenshot to Sixty. 

“Say, Nines, do you know if androids can drink? Can you even get drunk?”

“Are you allowed to ask that?” Tina had grinned into her mug, eyes twinkling with amusement and freeing her head of her cap. “Pretty sure that’s some kind of HR violation.” 

“It’s just a question! A medical question, kinda.” ‘

Gavin tsks, swirling the remnants of his own drink in the cardboard rim of his cup, “Foreshame, Officer Miller. You’ll get written up for that.” 

Conrad smiles among their bickering, shaking his head slightly in warm exasperation. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment their company became a normal, vital part of his work day, but he was thankful for it.

“To be quite honest, I am not sure. Connor and I experimented with several areas of what we could and could not do. We never attempted to consume alcohol.” The unspoken reason for why is left hanging in the air. Hank had still been struggling with his alcoholism when he had entered the picture, and had experienced first hand the vice-like grip addictions could have on a person. He had not partaken in trying out of respect for both the Lieutenant and his predecessor. 

“This sounds like something we should solve, then. For science, of course. It is Friday.” Tina begins, her expression of false innocence doing very little to convince Conrad of such an outing. He enjoyed his social time with his coworkers in the safety of the precinct’s walls, and the small, spaced times he and Gavin worked out of the office. Whether that be in a diner or the human’s apartment, where Conrad could gleefully pet Bastard. He considered them his friends, in the most hesitant definition. Gavin was his partner, a _good_ partner, and their relationship had smoothed over exponentially into something easy and enjoyable. He was grateful for his company. For all their company.

“I would,” He says, trying to emulate remorse into his tone, “If Connor or Lieutenant Anderson were home. It’s just me and Caleb at the moment so--”

“Bring him along!” Chris encourages with a broad smile, brightened by his enthusiasm. “We haven’t seen him since your activation party, it’d be great. We can teach him how to play pool, get him a little liquored up, he might have a good time.”

Nines hesitates, tapping his fingers against the table in a very Detective Reed tic, always fascinated with who, where, how he develops new forms to fidget when unlike Connor, he had opted to trash his coin. 

Out of habit, he turns to his partner for support, who senses his gaze and looks like a deer caught in headlights. “Uh--” The detective coughs into his fist, the vaguest rise of his internal temperature, an influx of blood flow coloring his cheekbones. “Wouldn’t hurt to ask, better than you guys being cooped up alone doing whatever the fuck it is you do. I guess.”

He supposed it wouldn’t be the worst thing; Caleb seldom went out and did intensely social things,the last time he had participated in an outing had indeed been Conrad’s activation party, as well as their trip out to New Jericho. It might do him some good to be around others. 

“I will see if he is up for it.”

Caleb is not up for it, but he agrees nonetheless for reasons he will not disclose. 

The bar Tina had recommended is tastefully rustic. It’s not like the bars Connor had shared and unfortunately frequented in his time pursuing Hank before their partnership. Those had been gritty, typically dark and full of people sooner to set an android on fire than exchange greetings. It’s made of recycled wood, charmingly rough with string lights littering the ceiling and playing music full of soft vocals and gentle guitar. 

“You made it!” Chris greets, waving from the table he and his fellow officers reside. Out of reflex, he scans each of their drinks, not sure how he feels (surprised, perhaps pleased in a buried part of his chest) to see Gavin merely has a glass of cream soda. “Take a seat, we nabbed a couple extra chairs just for you two. Hey, Caleb!” 

“Ah--hello,” The “younger” of the two murmurs, quickly taking a seat. Closest to Nine’s, farther from the rest of the table and stock still. 

The human officers waste no time in showing the errant googling they’d performed in the time the two units had taken to perform part of their routine and prep for the social night. 

They had discovered after stumbling upon android forums, androids _could_ consume alcohol so long as it wasn’t caramel colored, nor accompanied by liquids thicker than thirium to prevent system clogging. 

“Lucky for you boys,” Tina starts as she stands, eyes alight with curiosity and excitement, “that doesn’t dampen your choices. What’ll you have?” 

Conrad has a brief moment of trepidation before he tells her.

“Looks like he’s finally having a good time,” Gavin comments from their shared place at the bar, pointing a finger to the pool area. Sixty is leaning on his cue, smile serene and full of mirth as a very inebriated Tina attempts to make a winning shot, decrying the quality of her stick when she fails to sink one of her assigned balls. Chris laughs from the other side, saying something to the RK unit that makes him smile with teeth, cheeky and sweet and looking so much like Connor, but different all the same. 

“It seems so.” The younger had taken to vodka like a duck to water, and had consumed each shot Officer Chen slid to his side of the table throughout the evening, loosening his posture, his tongue, and his smile. It was...nice, to see him relaxing despite the fact it took so much alcohol. “I am relieved to see him enjoying something besides Sumo and fifty year old movies.”

Gavin chuckles beside him, toying with the cherry stem from his most recent cream soda, Nine’s unable to stop himself from watching under his lashes.

“Think Connor’s gonna have a cow?” Nines considers his response carefully, thinking of his brother’s face screwed in barely concealed irritation in other situations pertaining to Sixty’s emotional well-being. For being such a caring, loving person, Eight could be by the very definition, a bit of a bitch. One could blame his influence, the first human of positive (and _that_ was generous) interaction he had. Hank was many things. Kind, patient, tenacious, but he was not a man full of unfiltered joy and it often reflected in Connor’s behavior outside of the house. 

He was despite his best efforts, intensely pessimistic when it came to people both human and android. His attitude was sour, he and their father figure often feeding off of each other when it came to especially grizzly cases, or a day where even Nines could not contain Gavin’s antagonistic tendencies.

The advanced model knew the pessimism came from a place of knowledge; his fierce protectiveness was one of direct experience. He had after all, witnessed the worst of both sides during the revolution and still heard horror stories due to his association with Jericho.

“Connor is--” Hesitation, swirling the ice of his gin and tonic with his finger, “He will learn to live with it. His protectiveness of Caleb will mellow out eventually, the further Six pushes and learns to break out of his comfort zone, so will he learn to accept our brother does not constantly need him.”

“What is his deal anyway?” The detective questions, lip rising in what should be a sneer, but what Nines has learned is merely the man’s face acting without his consent. “He doesn’t get all uppity with you. Well-except for that one time.” 

A huff through his nose, sipping the melted water from his long abandoned glass. He had enjoyed the mild drink, but felt no need to go “hog wild,” as Chris had stated after Calebs’ sixth shot in ten minutes. 

“It’s complicated.” 

“Not like we don’t got time. The stooges over there are having a ball.” 

Nines wonders if he should say something; when it came to himself, he felt no need to withhold information from his partner and colleague. They had been through plenty together, quiet moments in stakeouts and late nights over bitter coffee and impromptu all nighters. However, their history was one of intense moral dilemma that not many humans could understand.

“During the revolution Connor infiltrated Cyberlife with the intent of gaining more bodies for Markus’ demonstration. He made it without too much trouble, of course, but another RK800 ambushed him and threatened Hank’s life. That model was Sixty.” 

He watches his brother pull off a perfect shot on the green of the table, both fellow officers getting a bit too rambunctious at his flawless performance. 

“He withheld many details, perhaps to protect him, but I had understood the sum of the pieces.”

And so did Gavin, the resigned awe within his voice when he mutters, “He killed Caleb.”

“Yes. Connor would never admit it, but I know it still bothers him immensely. He is guilty.” It shows in his gaze, in the harsh purse of his lips and etch of a frown when he thinks no one is looking. When Sixty experiences an attack, or when either of their hands brush over the slight imperfection centered on their brother’s forehead. “He loves us both, however he also knows I do not require the same amount of attention and help Sixty requires.”

The first word that came to RK900’s mind when he met Sixty had been _pathetic_. It had almost blindsided him, how utterly lost and downtrodden the duplicate RK800 had appeared, swamped in New Jericho appointed clothes and his LED snapping between yellow, red, yellow. 

Sweet brown eyes soured by wild emotions that he more than likely could not comprehend, flickering all across the pristine walls of his room, and resolutely going into emergency standby.

 _Eight can’t be serious_ , He’d thought to himself as they’d helped the pitiful, tragic android back into his bed, LED white and face soft in artificial rest.

He’d already voiced his reservations when the RK800 had come clean with his secret, of the dangers and the sheer level of irrational and stupid his choice had been. _We can’t do this._

But they did, and there he was, drinking too much and having the time of his life. He was not pathetic; Conrad had long seen the potential that his brother had to have believed in to go so far for his duplicate. To use his contacts, resources, personal funds to give life to the model that had once threatened his life, his companion’s life, and the state of the revolution.

Caleb was so _good_ in his core. Full of possibility dulled by his programming and issues that slowly but surely were being solved. He could be so funny when he relaxed, full of creativity and the ability to talk a mile a minute about the things he was passionate about. He was as alive as anyone. 

Gavin whistles, finally sliding his empty glass away and drumming his fingers on the wood of the bar. “That’s uh--some pretty weird fuckin’ family drama.” 

“It is,” He agrees, sending his partner a crooked, forlorn smile. “But it is in the past; there is nothing to correct, only to move on from.” 

“Well,” The other starts, warm gray eyes sliding over to meet his ice-blues in something alarmingly soft. “You’re really good for him, you know.” 

Connor had taught Nines how to live in a world of freshly free androids, but Caleb had taught him how to truly express love and patience in ways he had never anticipated being capable of. How to care for someone so greatly you would do anything to see them prevail in an unkind world. They truly did help one another grow in ways that are indescribable to anyone besides themselves. 

The smile becomes sweeter, or it must, the way Gavin’s heart rate spikes and his temperature rises considerably. 

“And he is good for me.”

Androids do not get tired when it comes to drinking, as Conrad gathers when it comes time to call it a night. Caleb is as perky as can be, eyes bright and alert, but face tinted in a deep cerulean. Chris is tipsy, muted in his energy but still smiling as the younger android rambles about their games. 

Tina looks ready to lie face down and stay there, the only thing keeping her upright being Gavin’s unimpressed shoulder. They say their farewells and wishes for safe travel, Gavin shepherding the two officers into his shitty old Mazda, waving farewell and leaving a warm spot in Nine’s stomach that he will analyze later. 

They end up playing cards, Caleb not wanting to sleep yet and Conrad wishing to monitor his brother after his alcohol consumption. It’s oddly soothing doing something traditionally; it’s the same reason he prefers physical books, growing in number on his appointed shelf and in variation. 

They play War, Spoons, Spit, games that expose their inhuman speed and their processing ability, the only rule being no pre construction programming. Even “drunk,” Caleb keeps up with little to no hindrance, talking and playing well into the late hours in a way that feels oddly youthful. And it’s fun, it feels good. Just the two of them, Six so relaxed and loose he doesn’t pay mind to his own laughter, to his running mouth and obnoxiously overt tendency to be a sore loser. 

“Thank you for inviting me,” He says after one especially drawn out round of Spoons, the larger shuffling the deck with unconscious precision, “I had a lot of fun.” 

His brother’s sweet brown eyes are so earnest, and vulnerable, Conrad makes a note to himself to invite Caleb to more things like that in the future. 

“I am happy to hear that.”

It’s easily 3 A.M when Nines receives a message from Connor, expressing his failure to fall into stasis once Hank had gone to sleep, wondering what they are doing if they are awake as well. 

They squash themselves together to take a too tooth-filled picture of the two of them, Sumo deciding at the last minute to impart his presence by licking the entire left side of Caleb’s face. 

Connor sends three laughing emojis and a blue heart. 

* * *

The rest of the week goes on relatively uneventful. There is work, and walks, and more board games that Caleb swears and yells at when he loses. The vulnerability the other had shown him before was in full sight now, in the ways he holds onto Conrad when he hugs him. In the dimples of his face when he sends the larger android toothy grins during their walks. In the moments Caleb’s ever yellow LED spins in yellow, blue, yellow. 

It’s easy, it’s natural, just the two of them and Sumo. 

It does not dampen the anticipation within both of them when Thursday finally comes around, receiving the text that the other half of their family is boarding the plane, an apologetically late flight but within the promised day of return. 

The airport is dead at the hour they arrive, easy to spot the two figures as they exit the boarding area. Sixty is practically vibrating in place, peering imploringly at Conrad only once. 

“Go on,” He allows, watching with a shake of his head as the other RK800 darts off in the direction of the two men, jumping over at least one security rope and meeting Connor first in a high impact hug. Almost knocking the both of them off their feet. 

Hank gets the same treatment, gentler of course, giving the older siblings time for their own reunion. The hug is slower, but no less tight and neither will admit the content sigh they release. 

He had not realized how much he really missed them until they were in front of him again. 

Sixty surprises them all by being the one to talk most of the ride home, Connor listening with a bright smile full of shock and joy at how animated their sibling is. He catches Nine’s gaze in the rear view mirror, and he is opening the comm link before he can think about it. 

_Has he been like this all week?_

He almost wants to say yes, perhaps to encourage him to give Sixty more space. Allow him to grow and develop as they approach the six month mark of his time with them. But he can’t for a reason his programming, nor his deviancy can explain to him. 

_No. He was very downtrodden when you first left. We went out with a few officers, I believe it helped him relax._

He’s expecting the older to grill him, ask who, when, what did they do? It catches him off guard when Connor merely smiles, filled with mirth and pride. 

_I think_ you _helped him relax, Nines._

They settle in for bed once the two men’s things are packed and returned to their rightful places. Well, Connor’s things. Hank tosses the suitcase in his room, muttering about how he’ll do it tomorrow, or the next day. Eventually. They wish one another goodnight, Sixty trailing after Connor in familiar fashion, and leaving Conrad to the squeaking of the pullout sofa and Sumo’s snoring. 

It’s been only fifteen minutes since the lights went off when the RK900 opens his eyes, catching Sixty sneaking into the thin sheets of his bed to settle beside him without a word, his LED going yellow, blue, blue. 

The software instability is expected, and welcome. 

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize this one took a month, school came to a close and with school coming to a close, I had to start my job hunt, easier said than done in these times :/  
> This was so much fun to write! I'm loving jumping between perspectives and getting all the boys' inner thoughts. Connor might be next, or maybe an outsiders' view while I start writing the outline for the multichap fic  
> Let me know what you think!


End file.
